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  “You weren’t injured?” The question was brutal with anger.

  “In what?” she snapped back. The man was talking in riddles.

  “The accident at O’Hara.”

  “Oh.” She’d forgotten about that. “No, I was on another flight.”

  “But the same airlines,” he said, and his voice evened out.

  “Yes, but Philip and I caught the later flight.” How Zane knew which airline she’d flown, she could only speculate. “You were worried.” The words were more statement than question.

  He didn’t respond, as if doing so would insinuate he cared about her, which was clearly something he’d rather she not know. But she did.

  Zane couldn’t kiss her with such tenderness if he felt nothing for her. Nor would he have refused to make love to her when she’d all but thrown herself into his arms.

  He cared, but for whatever reasons, he’d made the decision to push her out of his life.

  It hadn’t been easy for Lesley to accept. Instinctively, she recognized that the harder she pushed, the tighter his resistance would be. And so she’d followed a hands-off policy, and hoped something would happen to change his mind.

  “I’m sorry if I woke you.” The edge was off his voice and if she heard anything, it was an embarrassed kind of regret.

  “How was the trip?” The question was friendly, as if their relationship was on a smooth, even keel.

  “Long. Dull. Boring. I’m glad to be home.”

  “Did I wake you?”

  “No. I’m generally so wired by the time I arrive home that sleep is impossible.”

  The line was silent, and for a moment, Lesley feared she was talking into thin air.

  “When I heard about the accident,” Zane said, his words low and barely discernible, “I didn’t know what to think. You’d mentioned how afraid you were to fly—” He stopped abruptly, as though he regretted admitting this much.

  “I am afraid,” she admitted softly.

  “It happens,” he said, his voice stiffening. “The things we fear most. Sometimes I believe we bring them upon ourselves.” He stopped and inhaled sharply. “Lesley, I apologize. I’ve made a first-class fool of myself, and as Mrs. Applegate mentioned not long ago, I’ve done so with a vengeance. Forgive me, please.”

  “It isn’t a problem. Good night, Zane.”

  “Goodnight.”

  The conversation was over and all at once Lesley knew she would be able to sleep, and when she did, she knew her night would be filled with happy dreams.

  A week later, Lesley arrived at Jordan and Molly Larabee’s with a bouquet of fresh-cut flowers and a bottle of her favorite white wine.

  “Lesley.” Molly greeted her at the door and kissed her on the cheek. Nine-month-old Ian was riding his mother’s waist, swinging a set of large, plastic keys. “I’m so pleased you could come,” Molly added, stepping aside to let her in.

  “Are you kidding?” Lesley joked. “A home-cooked dinner that I don’t have to fuss with myself? It sounds heavenly.”

  “Jordan’s barbecuing,” Molly explained, bouncing the baby on her hip. “Thank goodness. I’ve got my hands full with the kids.”

  “Let me help,” Lesley said, following Jordan’s wife into the kitchen. She placed the wine in the refrigerator to cool and left the flowers on the counter.

  Molly eyed the bouquet. “That wasn’t necessary, you know.”

  “I’d bribe you with a lot more than wine and flowers to hold Ian.” Lesley put her arms out to the toddler, and he reached for her.

  “Lesley, you’re wearing silk,” Molly warned. “He’s teething and likely to drool all over you.”

  “She’s accustomed to having men drool all over her,” Jordan said, stepping into the kitchen.

  Lesley laughed at the absurdity of such a statement, but it was nice to have her ego flattered, especially since it had taken such a beating of late.

  Ian slipped his chubby legs around her waist and reached for her dangly earrings.

  It had been awkward being friends with Molly in the beginning. But Lesley had soon gotten over that. Seeing that she often worked with Jordan, it was important that the two women reach an agreement.

  Soon after Bethany was born, Lesley and Molly had sat down and talked openly. Their discussion had revolved around Lesley’s short relationship with Jordan.

  Secure in her husband’s love, Molly had gone out of her way to put Lesley at ease. In the three years since Jordan and Molly had reunited, Lesley considered the contractor’s wife one of her best friends.

  Lesley pulled out a kitchen chair and crossed her legs, letting Ian ride on the end of her foot while holding on to his plump arms. She was so involved in playing with the little boy that she didn’t notice someone else had entered the kitchen. When she caught sight of a figure standing just inside the sliding glass door, she glanced up, a ready smile in place, waiting for an introduction.

  Her foot went still. So did her heart. “Zane.”

  “Hello, Lesley. It’s good to see you again.”

  Good to see you again. She wasn’t sure what was required of her. Ian squalled in protest, not wanting the fun to end. Lesley felt disoriented, as if she’d been on a carnival ride that had spun around so many times, she’d lost her equilibrium.

  She lifted Ian from her foot and cuddled him close, almost as though she needed the baby to insulate her from the shock of seeing Zane.

  “What are you doing here?” She didn’t realize how rude the question was until she voiced it. “I mean…I didn’t know anyone else had been invited.”

  “We’re starting work on Zane’s house this week,” Jordan announced as he reached inside the refrigerator for a plate piled high with thick porterhouse steaks.

  “So soon?” Lesley’s gaze traveled from Jordan to Zane.

  “The sooner the better, don’t you think?” Jordan commented.

  “Of course.” Lesley couldn’t keep her muddled thinking straight. Had she known Zane had been invited, she would have mentally prepared herself for the meeting. To happen upon him like this completely knocked the breath out of her.

  “Mommy, Mommy, bring Aunt Lesley to see,” Bethany called from the backyard.

  “Jordan built her a playhouse,” Molly explained to Lesley as she carried an hors d’oeuvre plate outside to the picnic table.

  “This I’ve got to see.” Taking Ian with her, Lesley followed Molly outside, but it wasn’t her friend’s craftsmanship that interested her.

  “Why didn’t you tell me?” Lesley whispered the minute the two women were alone.

  “About Zane coming?”

  “Yes,” Lesley said in hushed tones.

  “I didn’t know. We invited him more than a week ago and he refused.” Molly took Ian from Lesley and placed him in the high chair set up on the patio. “Then, out of the blue, he called and asked if the invitation was still open. We were thrilled. It isn’t often that we see him. This is the first time since his—” she paused, and lowered her voice “—since his accident. From what Jordan said, Zane rarely leaves Sleepy Valley.” She glanced toward Zane, and Molly’s eyes saddened. “He’s a good man, Lesley. A very good man. He risked his life for Jordan and me.”

  Lesley didn’t understand, but wasn’t given the opportunity to question Molly further.

  “Come look, come look,” Bethany insisted, taking Lesley’s hand and pulling her toward the one-room playhouse. Lesley had seen apartments built with less flourish. Jordan had outdone himself.

  She allowed the three-year-old to show her around.

  “Bethany,” her mother called, “it’s time to get ready for dinner.”

  The little girl raced toward her mother.

  Zane joined Lesley, his gaze following Jordan’s daughter. “What you said the other day about children…Did you mean it?”

  “Yes,” she answered, her heart pounding. “I want it all.”

  “All?”

  “Marriage, children, a home.”

 
; “I see.” Zane’s gaze held hers for several long moments before he turned and walked away.

  Chapter Five

  ZANE ACCEPTED EARLY ON that the remodeling project would be a nuisance, but he hadn’t realized exactly how much it would disrupt his life. A constant parade of workers walked in and out of his house. Sawdust and noise became incessant irritants.

  Mrs. Applegate was in an uproar in an effort to protect her precious territory. When she wasn’t yelling at the workers to be careful about one thing or another, she was feeding them freshly baked cookies. Zane wasn’t sure this was such a good idea. He didn’t want to give the construction crew any incentive to take longer than absolutely necessary.

  Zane did his best to stay out of the workers’ way, but his home and his life were no longer his own. As the month of May progressed, he wondered what had ever possessed him to make expensive and drastic changes in a home he wouldn’t live long enough to enjoy.

  As had become his habit each morning, Zane walked out to the stable to saddle Arabesque, his black gelding. This hour of peace and quiet had become his sanity.

  Carl was in the barn, busy working the tractor’s engine. Zane entered the barn and heard his friend cursing under his breath.

  “Having problems?” Zane asked.

  Carl looked up and frowned. “Not really.” He reached for the rag tucked in his hip pocket, and strolled toward Zane. “Have you got a minute?”

  “Sure.” Zane glanced at his watch. Lesley was due to arrive at ten, but he’d be back in plenty of time to meet her. It had been almost two weeks since the night of the Larabees’ dinner, and in that time, Zane had given serious thought to his relationship with Lesley. Asking her to review the progress on the house was little more than an excuse to see her again.

  Carl seemed to find it necessary to clean his hands. He concentrated on wiping away the grease before he asked, “Would you object if I went back to ordering supplies from Hoffman’s?”

  The question surprised Zane, and he could tell Carl was uncomfortable asking it. “I told you before those decisions are yours to make. I trust you to get the best price, and beyond that, it doesn’t matter to me.”

  “Good.” Carl turned back to work on the tractor and reached for a wrench.

  Because he couldn’t resist, Zane asked, “I thought you didn’t want anything more to do with that Hoffman woman?”

  “I don’t,” Carl insisted heatedly, tossing a wrench back into his toolbox. It landed with a clang. “But I feel I might have been a bit hasty earlier, pulling our business.”

  “The decision is yours,” Zane reminded him.

  Carl nodded abruptly. “I should mention something else. I found a piece of property that interests me, north of Sleepy Valley.”

  Zane knew Carl would eventually move on, but he hated to have him leave. Up to this point, their arrangement had been loose. Carl lived in the guest house, and helped with the horses. As it was, he’d taken on several other responsibilities. It would be difficult to find someone to replace him.

  “It’s got fifty acres and plenty of open space.”

  Carl was a natural with horses. When they’d talked about what they’d do when they gave up soldiering, Carl had mentioned his desire to raise the world’s finest Arabians.

  “It sounds ideal.”

  Carl leaned against the side of the small tractor and crossed his arms. “The place needs a lot of work, but I’m not afraid of that. The way I figure, it could be another year or more before I’m able to start buying my stock.”

  Carl never had been one to show a lot of enthusiasm, but Zane could see his friend was excited about this property. He was slow and meticulous, traits which had come in handy over the years. He’d make the decision about the land the way he did everything else—in his own time and in his own way.

  “I haven’t made any decisions yet, but I figured I should mention it.”

  “Let me know what you decide.”

  “I will,” Carl said, and turned back to the tractor.

  Carl made an excuse to drive into town later that morning. He was honest enough to admit he had no real reason, other than to see Candy Hoffman.

  If d been over two weeks since he’d last talked to her, and frankly, he missed their sparring matches. His life had been downright dull without crossing swords with that little hellcat. If the truth be known, he enjoyed their verbal battles.

  Chuckling to himself, Carl recalled how her face would get all red, starting with her neck. The hot color would work its way up until the tops of her ears looked as if they were on fire. There was no way that woman could hide her feelings. She was a hot-tempered wench, and by heaven, he’d missed her.

  By the time he pulled up in front of the feed store, Carl was in a good humor. His mood improved when he found Candy in the back of the store, sassy as always, issuing orders like a drill sergeant.

  She stopped midsentence when she saw him standing there. “What do you want?” she barked.

  Something was different about her. It took Carl a minute to put his finger on it. She wore makeup and her hair was curled. Why, she looked as good as she had the night of the dance.

  “Hello to you, too,” he said with a slow, lackadaisical smile.

  Candy hugged the clipboard against her bosom as if she thought it would protect her.

  “Answer my question. What do you want?” she asked again.

  “I’ve had a change of heart,” he said, and reached for the folded slip of paper inside his shirt pocket.

  She eyed him warily. “A change of heart about what?”

  “Giving you my business. I’ve got a number of items listed here that I’d like delivered.” He handed her the slip, expecting her to be grateful. Instead, she stared at him with a shocked look.

  “I thought you said…” she mumbled, then stiffened. “As I recall, you claimed it’d be impossible for the two of us to be friends.”

  “I don’t have to like you to do business with you, do I?” The instant the words slipped out of his mouth, Carl realized he’d said the wrong thing. Furthermore, it wasn’t what he meant. He did like Candy—that was the crux of the problem.

  The red started creeping up her neck, and he realized that this time he’d jumped into it with both feet.

  She thrust his list back at him as if it were diseased. “I don’t need your business, Mr. Saks, especially in light of the fact—”

  “I didn’t mean that the way it sounded.” Already he knew it was too late. Candy wasn’t in any mood to listen to reason. The list fell to the floor. Carl would have bent over and retrieved it, but when Candy was in this mood, it was conducive to his health to keep his eyes trained on her.

  “Perhaps it would be best if you left my store now,” she said, glaring ferociously at him.

  “You’re kicking me out?” Carl couldn’t believe his ears. The woman had the audacity to actually oust him over a simple misunderstanding.

  “You’re darn right I’m kicking you out.” She raised her arm and pointed toward the front door, as though he wasn’t smart enough to find his own way.

  Apparently he wasn’t moving fast enough to suit her purposes, because she shoved him hard enough for him to nearly lose his balance.

  “Get out,” she shouted, “and stay out.”

  Carl was tempted to stand his ground, and would have, if not for one simple factor. Tears glistened in Candy’s eyes.

  Tears.

  Muttering under his breath, he left, but he didn’t feel good about it. In fact, he was downright miserable. This wasn’t what he intended. On the drive over, he’d been thinking that they might stop in at the local cafe and chat over coffee. He was hoping they would find common ground, talk matters out. He’d have liked it if they could have reached an understanding.

  Instead, everything had blown up in his face.

  The problem, Carl realized, was that women were irrational creatures and he didn’t know how to deal with them. Both angry and frustrated, he removed his h
at and slapped it against his thigh.

  He knew it wouldn’t be long before the word got around town that Candy Hoffman had tossed him out of her feed store. This woman was a detriment to his reputation.

  Across the street from where he’d parked the truck was a flower store. Carl stood next to his pickup and stared at it for several minutes. Women were said to be partial to flowers. Maybe he should let a bunch of roses do the talking for him. With that thought in mind, he jogged between traffic and walked over to stand in front of the window.

  Glancing over his shoulder, he remembered the way Candy’s eyes had glistened. It seemed a bunch of those pretty yellow daisies with the black centers were a small price to pay for having unintentionally offended her.

  The bell over the door chimed as he walked inside.

  “Can I help you?” The proprietor, a middle-aged woman with kind eyes, greeted him.

  Carl peeled a hundred dollars off his money clip. “Do you know Candy Hoffman?”

  “Of course. She took over the feed store when her father died a few years back.”

  “Send her as many flowers as this will cover.” He set the money on the counter and started to walk away.

  “You can’t leave,” the woman called.

  “I can’t?”

  “I need to know what kind of flowers you want? How many? And what about the card?”

  “A card?” Carl paused, his hand on the doorknob. “Do you need extra for that?”

  “No…no.” The woman was clearly flustered. “Generally, a card is enclosed. Candy will want to know who sent her the flowers.”

  Carl hesitated, then shook his head. “She’ll figure it out without any card. As for which kind and how many, I’ll leave that up to you.” He hurried out the door before someone recognized him.

  The minute Lesley turned into the long driveway that led to Zane’s home, she experienced a keen sense of homecoming. The feeling was similar to what she’d felt on her first trip to his property. The house reached out to her with wide, open arms. Unfortunately, the proprietor wouldn’t.

  Zane’s invitation had come as a welcome surprise. Lesley had given up any and all attempts to understand Zane. Whenever they were together, the attraction between them was so powerful, it affected everyone around them. The air seemed to throb with electricity. People seemed to stop and wait for something to happen between Zane and her.